


Whataya Want From Me

by Risti



Series: Whataya Want From Me [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-01
Updated: 2010-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Risti/pseuds/Risti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's me, I'm the freak but thanks for loving me 'cause you're doing it perfectly.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whataya Want From Me

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally posted on January 17th, 2010 to [livejournal](http://risti.livejournal.com/388095.html)._
> 
> I used to tell people I had standards. Then I wrote 2nd-person POV Emo R-rated RPS songfic about American Idol.
> 
> **Author's Notes The Sequel:** So, well, this idea came to my head while ogling the Kradam subtext in Adam's video, so I thought I'd write a short fic about it, and now here I am, 7200 words later...  
> **Author's Notes III: The Actual Thinky Thoughts:** I wrote a story for Adam and Kris to fit the story told in the video. I tried to make it fit with the actual events of the past six months, but I also pretty much ignored any evidence to the contrary. Real people, fictional circumstances, etc. Also, this fic would not exist without [](http://bbluejenn117.livejournal.com/profile)[**bbluejenn117**](http://bbluejenn117.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sparkysparky.livejournal.com/profile)[**sparkysparky**](http://sparkysparky.livejournal.com/), who dragged me kicking and screaming into Kradam, slowly converted me, and then became awesome cheerleaders &amp; betas while this fic took over my brain. The awesome cover image was made by [](http://users.livejournal.com/acquiescence_/profile)[**acquiescence_**](http://users.livejournal.com/acquiescence_/).
> 
>  
> 
> This fic has a playlist, put together by [](http://bbluejenn117.livejournal.com/profile)[**bbluejenn117**](http://bbluejenn117.livejournal.com/), and it's really pretty awesome. [Download here](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=4AA58U9G) for the following:
> 
> _Whataya Want From Me_ (Adam Lambert)  
> _Poses_ (Rufus Wainwright)  
> _Your Smile's A Drug_ (Patrick Park)  
> _Broken Open_ (Adam Lambert)  
> _Fever_ (Lady Gaga)  
> _Sleepwalker_ (Adam Lambert)  
> _Come Home_ (OneRepublic)  
> _Falling Apart_ (Matt Nathanson)  
> _Don't Let It Go To Your Head_ (Fefe Dobson)  
> _Supermassive Black Hole_ (Muse)  
> _Set Down Your Glass_ (Snow Patrol)  
> _Heartbreak Warfare_ (John Mayer)  
> _I Need To Know_ (Kris Allen)  
> _Written All Over My Face_ (Kris Allen)

[   
](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GY5hT-_3CL0)

_Click to watch the music video that inspired the fic._

 

You're not surprised - completely shaken and feeling like a category five earthquake just destroyed your heart - but not fucking surprised. This is, after all, the way your life goes. It's just some sort of cosmic balance. For any bit of success in your life, there is always a sacrifice to be made. The whole world might now know your face, but they only see the glitter and glam. They don't know how thick you need to apply your make up these days.

Tomorrow, you will get out of bed and face them again. You'll clean off all the remains of yesterday's dirt, and put on the best performance of your life simply by pretending nothing has changed.

But not today.

***

You'd been doing this, well, thing, the two of you, right from the beginning. The flirting. The cuddling. The co-dependency. It was innocent. How could it be anything but innocent when it was _Kris Allen_, the Patron Saint of Innocence and Kittens? You were totally cool with it being innocent. You couldn't honestly remember the last time you'd had something innocent in your life.

You were totally in love with all that innocence.

You didn't actually realize it until after the tour was over and it suddenly _hurt_ to go for days without seeing him. The shock was like an ice cold shower, because you _knew_ that feeling. You might have waited almost twenty-five years to experience your first love, but this had the instantly recognizable flavor of being the real deal. After all the interviews, all the tweets, all the indulging of the fans, it seemed like fate was playing a sick practical joke that you were waking up with the ghost of his name on your lips.

From that point on you hated the innocent touches almost as much as you craved them, because seriously, you were an addict. Kris Allen was your drug. It was cliche and emo and made you feel like you were still nothing more than a lonely little gay boy hoping the world would notice him on MySpace, but it was an undeniable fact. You needed Kris - whatever you could get from him - to make it through the day.

The nights, well, you corrupted all that innocence in your mind to make it through the nights.

***

You dove into the studio even harder than you'd driven into Drake as a distraction. It was about the only place you could be honest in your emotions, and music once again became both a salve and a safe place to scream. You were singing songs you'd written about Brad, but it was almost unbelievable how you'd never felt more over Brad in your life. It was exhausting, but exhilarating, and for a brief moment in time, you thought that maybe you could take control of your life back after all.

Kris, on the other hand, was miserable. You told yourself it wasn't your fault. You _knew_ it wasn't your fault. Kris was fighting tooth and nail to be about five different people at the same time, all of whom were more awesome than most people ever even dreamed of being. One was Kris Allen, American Idol, the guy everyone loves because he's just so gosh darn lovable, _no really, we mean it_. Another was a kickass musician who was fighting tooth and nail to not only maintain creative control over his album, but provide genuine moments of musical genius. And who could forget Mr. "I'm still on my honeymoon", who made sure to keep the romance alive in his marriage and still be there for Katy.

Then there was your Kris. The one who texted you from the bathroom of the studio because he wasn't sure how to tell the producers that he needed a day off. The one who would show up to your apartment at midnight when you'd both just gotten out of the studio, guitar case in one hand and a duffle bag in the other, because he didn't want to wake up Katy by getting in when she was asleep, and then the two of you would stay up for another three hours giggling over the fact that _this was actually happening_.

Then Kris would fall asleep halfway through your a capella performance of Fever, complete with Lady Gaga impersonations, and you'd actually _carry_ him into the spare bedroom, and stare at him for so long that the next thing you knew it was morning, and you'd both overslept because the alarm clock was back in your room, which you hadn't actually made it to.

You wake up that morning to find Kris staring at you. You barely realize that it isn't a dream in time to stop yourself from kissing the bemused expression right off his face.

"You know, most times when I wake up somewhere I don't remember falling asleep, there is more alcohol involved."

A blush stains your cheeks, even as panic creeps up inside.

Kris sighs dramatically. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before you dragged me into bed to ravish me. Does this mean I get to go tell Rolling Stone about my crush on you now? Do you think I'd make the cover if I did?"

You fake a yawn to cover your wince, closing your eyes to keep Kris from looking too deep into them. Then you feel the bed shifting, and Kris is sitting up, choosing, apparently, to climb over you. You draw in a breath - which is a good thing - because this is the moment when Kris chooses to straddle your waist and grind down against you while digging around in his pocket for his phone, and you're pretty sure you forgot how do to anything as complicated as breathing.

"Seriously, though, how much crap do you think I'd get in if I tweeted this right now. 'Slept in this morning. Straddling Adam in bed now.'" He's typing something on his phone, and you're almost positive he's making up some kind of excuse to the studio for why he isn't there, but the look in his eye says he's about two seconds away from saying something he'll regret later to play hookie.

_That_ is your Kris Allen, and if you occasionally need to save him from himself, that's ok, because he trusts you to do that - needs you to be the one who keeps all the various pieces of him from breaking apart. You reach up to grab the phone from his hand, just to be sure, but at the same time Kris stretches his arms up in a yawn of his own, and you find your hand under the hem of his tee shirt, and as it slides around to grip his waist it's all just too much, and your mask slips.

Kris is still grinning like a loon, but whatever joke he was about to make next dies when he sees the look on your face.

_Crap._

Kris opens his mouth, but seems to have lost the ability to speak.

_Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap._

Just when you think the situation can't get any worse, Kris shifts positions, and it's clear from the way his eyes widen even further that he's just discovered your inevitable reaction to being accosted in bed by the man you love when you've only just woken up.

Your hand is _still_ resting on Kris's waist. In fact, you're pretty sure your traitorous thumb is stroking slow circles on Kris's stomach.

Kris is just staring at you, and you should really turn away, or do _something_, because you can see the fear and panic creeping onto his face, but how are you supposed to fix that when it's clear that _you_ are the source of it? Then his expression somehow softens, and now you're the one scared out of your mind as Kris reaches out a hand towards your face.

You sit up just as you feel his fingers touching your cheek, pushing him off of you before getting out of bed entirely.

"We're late. I need to take a shower."

You walk out of the room while Kris is still sprawled out on the bed.

You don't think about that last expression on his face while in the shower.

Not at all.

Later, you both decide - without the need to say it out loud - to just pretend that that morning hadn't stepped over whatever boundaries actually existed around your relationship as friends.

***

The most surprising thing is how little things change after that. You spend the first week terrified about how nothing could ever be the same. You keep watching for signs from Kris that he's going to pull back. You tell yourself that maybe _you_ should be the one to pull back, but you figure you're on borrowed time now as it is. How could you let go of even that small portion of Kris that is yours? It's not like you were the one to jump on top of him in bed. You _have_ been holding back this whole time.

Then things do start to change, but not in the way you expect them to. Kris's miserableness stops being something that you suspect in your gut and starts being something your eyes can't ignore. Maybe it's the crazy schedule. Maybe it's the cross-country move, or at least, the fact that his entire support system outside of you and Katy are still on the other side of the country. _Maybe he can't forget that morning either_, a voice you can't quite ignore whispers in your head. In any case, it becomes quite clear that Kris is relying on you for pretty much everything except oxygen at this point, and how exactly are you supposed to push _that_ away.

The first time Kris grabs your ass, however, you almost drop your skinny venti triple cinnamon dolce latte.

You don't really ever see each other, while actually recording. You're working with different studios, different producers, and really, it's not like LA is a small town. So it's totally out of the blue that Kris is in the same Starbucks as you at 6 am on a Tuesday morning, saying hello by copping a feel.

"You know, I've mentioned to people I'm pretty sure I'd be able to pick your ass out of a group of people at any point."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine."

Kris looks awful, to the point of distracting you from the boundary-crossing PDA. He's wearing a tshirt with a plaid shirt tied around his waist, which isn't exactly far from normal except that you clearly remember Kris wearing that shirt yesterday when you met for lunch, and his hair might actually be wilder than yours. You reach up, unable to stop yourself from running a finger along the bags under his eye.

"I can offer you some concealer for those, you know."

Kris shrugs. "I was thinking about grabbing another couple of hours sleep in my car, later, but perhaps that might be a better short term solution."

You pause just before taking a sip of your drink to raise your eyebrow at Kris's lack of refusal to wear make up, and then your brain catches up with the rest of what he said.

"Wait, are you telling me you slept in your car last night?"

Kris shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I went out driving along the coast. Eventually found myself drifting off, but I was at least an hour away from my place, so I just pulled over and grabbed the beach blanket from the trunk. I used to do it all the time back home."

"Kris!" You reach out to shake some sense into him."Kris, sweetie, your home is in LA now. You can't do things like that here. Think of the TMZ headline."

"What, _Idol insomniac gets lost in L.A.?_ Besides, there weren't any paparazzi following me."

"I was thinking more along the lines of _Idol found dead on the side of the road._"

"Oh."

It's quite disturbing how quickly Kris comprehends what you're getting at, because it clearly hadn't crossed his mind the previous night. You also realize that, speaking of TMZ, you probably don't want to have this conversation in the middle of the morning rush at Starbucks. You do some quick calculations in your head. You're working with Pink later this morning, and you had wanted to listen to the mix levels on her song a few more times before she got there, but this feels more important. You need to give Kris a couple hours here, if he doesn't have to rush off himself.

"Look, we all know I've been known to last for months on nothing but espresso and whipped cream, but your body was raised by people who still think breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Do you have time to grab a bit to eat? Why are you even here, anyhow? Where do you have to be this morning?"

Kris looks up at you, and there is a sense of release in those big brown eyes that are incapable of hiding anything. You take a big gulp of your coffee that is really still too hot to be drunk that quickly, but this moment feels like you should be drinking _something_, even if caffeine does feel like a poor substitute for alcohol at this moment.

"Breakfast" ends up being half of the food menu from Starbucks, who haven't improved their savory food options since you were on the other side of the counter, and you eat it in the backseat of Kris's car. The irony is not lost on you, but if the paparazzi do start to swarm, they aren't as familiar with Kris's car as they are yours, and there really isn't a public place you think is suitable for this conversation. You'd drag Kris back to your place, but you'd just end up sitting in traffic for a couple of hours anyhow.

It's the first time you've been in Kris's car in ages, and you're kind of put off by the state of it. If you hadn't lived with Kris for months on end, you would have thought he was a natural slob by the way his car looks now. You open your mouth to comment, but Kris is chewing on his reheated breakfast burrito with the satisfaction of a starving man eating his first meal in days. You take a bite of your own surprisingly-not-stale bagel, and for once, you don't even bother to try and remember the nutritional information on how many carbs it contains.

You both sit there in silence for a few minutes, eating, buffered from the typical sounds of a morning in Los Angeles, until finally you can't take it anymore.

"Come here." You say, adding your now empty coffee cup to the pile of similar ones on the floor of the car. Kris practically crawls into your waiting arms, and as you grip one hand around the back of his neck while the other anchors itself on his back, you can feel the tension draining out of both of you. You thought you were doing this for Kris, but apparently _you_ needed this - whatever this is - just as badly. It frightens you, because you thought you were getting better at that.

You stay there like that for an indefinite period of time, your fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck because not doing so feels like a crime at this point. Kris isn't moving at all, and you almost think he's fallen asleep right there, except that the death-grip his arms have around you hasn't slackened.

"Is Katy going to be worried that you disappeared over night?" You always make yourself ask about Katy at times like these.

"I told her I was staying at the studio late last night. She'll just think I crashed there for the night." Kris's words are muffled by your chest

You frown, because Kris is talking like Katy has precedent to make this assumption. Kris told you awhile back that he hated to bring all the stress and craziness of his life home with him - that he didn't want to overwhelm Katy with it. Apparently that now means avoiding going home at times all together.

"I'm giving you a key."

At that, Kris pulls his head back just enough to look up at Adam.

"I'm giving you a key, and I want you to promise that you'll use it rather than turn into a homeless person living out of your car."

You wait to see if Kris will try to argue - if he'll try to pretend that _things aren't like that_. His face is close enough to yours to share breaths, and it's physically painful, the effort required not to kiss away the weariness you see there.

However many breaths later - you lost track - it's Kris who reaches up and kisses you on the cheek. It's a shy little peck, the kind a child might give a parent, but it's enough to send you into paralytic shock. You want to say something, but are scared of the words that would end up coming out of your mouth, and you're torn between the desire to pull Kris in for a real kiss and the need to push him away and scramble out of the car.

You settle for doing absolutely nothing - not moving, not speaking, not breathing - nothing. Kris buries his face back into your shoulder. If he notices you shaking (how could he not notice you shaking?) he doesn't say anything, but he does somehow manage to bring the two of you into even closer contact.

Outside the car, life continues to move along in real time.

***

Your boundaries, whatever they had been, were shattered after that day. The key you gave Kris to your apartment was really a key for him to move right into your life, creeping into whatever corner of it that you'd managed to still call your own before that. His coffee mugs found a home next to yours in the kitchen cupboard, the spare room becomes as full of his clutter as his car had, and you find yourself collecting guitars with a passion that had previously been reserved for shoes.

Things get better for awhile, too. Kris's smiles' reach ear to ear again, and you both wrap up your albums and your schedules start including less marathon meetings and more tv appearances and live performances. Katy laughs and says something about you clearly being a better roommate for Kris while he's working than her, and you try not to cringe.

Kris doesn't kiss you again and you very carefully avoid thinking about whether you want him to, but sometimes you think things might actually be easier if he did. Kris's sleepovers have dropped in frequency - at one point he was only going home to Katy on weekends, now he stays over once a week, at the most - but you've fallen into the habit of Kris sleeping in your bed when he is there. Ostensibly this always starts with the two of you watching a movie or The Daily Show or something on tv the night before, but you always seem to wake up in a tangle of limbs by the next morning.

One night, you woke up around four am to find yourself spooned right up behind Kris, the fingers of both your hands interlocked and tucked under Kris's chin. There was no way you could have moved without waking him up, so you just lay there, memorizing the feel of Kris in your arms until you drift back to sleep.

You know it can't last, but you just can't bring yourself to rip off the bandage holding together the pieces of your heart.

***

You meant to stay in your seat and actually enjoy more of the show, but for once your nerves - or maybe anticipation - get the best of you, and you sneak backstage to fix your make up or play with your hair or do _something_ to keep your mind occupied until it's actually time to perform. You feel bad about missing Kris's presentation, but you giggled when the Disney starlet was paired as his wise and experienced mentor during the dress rehearsal, and you're not sure you should do that where other people might see you, anyhow.

You've just stripped out of your suit - you've learned over the years the dangers of doing your make up while wearing clothing you don't want to stain - when you hear a knock on the dressing room door. Assuming it's the band or the event stylist you call out for them to come on in while you settle into the chair in front of the mirror.

You first see Kris the mirror, his smile big and wide as he makes eye contact with your reflection. Before you can turn around to greet him properly, however, Kris is draping himself over your shoulders, touching his cheek to yours.

"I thought I might find you here. Planning on shocking America with your wardrobe choices?" His voice is lightly teasing, which matches the finger he's decided to run down your chest.

You swallow hard, and then make some sort of greeting before getting up to grab your pants. Being nearly naked in an empty room with Kris in this mood does _not_ seem like a good idea.

Kris is smirking and... openly checking you out? You quickly slip your pants on, keeping your back to Kris while you attempt to maintain control. When you turn around again, Kris is holding out your shirt. Your eyes meet as you take it and slide into the soft black silk, and then Kris is grabbing one of your arms, holding your wrist as he leans in to do up the buttons there. Your breath catches when he repeats this on the other wrist, and then you suddenly find yourself leaning back against a wall, with Kris standing between your hips as he begins working on the bottom button of your shirt.

"What are you doing, Kris?" Your voice catches, and Kris pauses, and there is surprise in his eyes.

_Fuck_. You've broken the biggest unspoken rule between you two, which is keeping everything between you two unspoken. You already wish you could take your words back. Eventually he raises one eyebrow.

"I'm helping."

_Oh, well, when you put it that way._

Kris's hands resume their task, and you reach up your arms to gently push him away - really, you should be doing this on your own - but instead find yourself just resting them on his waist, thumbs slipping through the belt buckles of the pants you've been admiring all evening.

You take a deep breath when Kris reaches the last button, his thumb stroking the hollow of your throat before sliding down to smooth out the non-existent creases down your chest. He takes a step back, and you exhale, but then he's passing you your vest, and it would seem this evening's round of torture isn't complete yet.

You learn that Kris can tie just as perfect a knot in a tie as you can, but when he reaches out to grab your belt you put your hand on top of his to stop him.

You're pretty sure your last shreds of control would snap if you allowed that, but Kris's eyes are defiant, daring you to let go. Your silent showdown, a battle of will, is another one of those moments with Kris where you lose all sense of times' passage. Eventually, however, Kris backs away, still grinning that same smile of his.

You guess this means you've won?

Kris keeps walking backwards, and you find your feet traitorously taking steps forward to follow him, until he's the one leaning back against the opposite wall, right next to the door. He looks up at you from under lowered lashes, biting his lip, and the urge to kiss the smirk hidden under that falsely shy expression is almost overwhelming.

"I guess I should head back, now." Kris's voice is low, and something in the tone of it makes it suddenly crystal clear that Kris knows _exactly_ what he's doing here. Well, that makes one of them. "Can't wait to see your performance."

With those words, he slips out the door, leaving you shell-shocked and speechless.

Five minutes later you track down something alcoholic and down about as much as you can and still be confident that you'll stay lucid.

Fifteen minutes later you're more pissed off at Kris than you ever thought you would be, because _seriously._ What the _fuck_ was that. Innocence had as much a role in that as a poodle did in a porno, and in fact, you're pretty sure that was hotter than most of the porn you've seen in your life (and you've seen a lot of porn).

Fifty minutes later and you're on stage in front of millions of Americans, giving the performance that would iconicize your image for years to come.

***

When you finally arrive back at your apartment you're ready to just catch the two hours of sleep you have time for before you have to go on tv and talk about just what exactly happened tonight, and it's a good thing your publicist has told you what that is, because you're still not sure yourself. So the last thing you're expecting - or wanting - is to see that your light is on and Kris is sitting on your couch.

"I don't have time for this tonight."

Kris freezes halfway through lifting himself up off the couch.

"Seriously, don't even start. I'm going to sleep now, and I suggest that you do the same." You pause. "I'll be getting up again in a couple of hours, but I'll try to be quiet so you don't hear me from the other room."

Kris's face, which has looked hesitant up to this point, hardens at this point. You've already turned to head towards your room when Kris finally speaks.

"Fine, then, I'd almost given up on you actually coming home tonight, anyhow."

Against your better judgment, you pause.

"I mean, I was worried you might have ended up somewhere else, and..."

You turn back around slowly, needing to look Kris in the eyes to respond to that. "Why, exactly, are you worried about who I'm sleeping with tonight?"

Kris's eyes widen. "I didn't say who. I said where."

"But you meant who."

"They say that he's married."

Your jaw drops. "Who says that _who_ is married." You're pretty sure Kris hasn't decided to start referring to himself in the third person.

"Tommy. People on the internet, they're, well, they say that he's married."

_Oh fuck, that's going to be a fun rumor to add into the mix._ "People on the internet, Kris? Fucking people on the internet? Come on."

"I just, I mean..."

"Kris, you _know_ Tommy. You guys have jammed together. He's straight, sure, but he's not married." You let out a short laugh. "I wouldn't have done that if he was married."

"Oh." Kris's voice is small, now. "He never actually mentioned that."

"So you just, what, _assumed_ that I was going to spend the few hours I have before the morning media blitz fucking my married friend, was that it?"

"I'm sorry."

If you were going to walk away, this is the moment when you should. Kris's apology, however, sounds sincere, which means you just have to ask "Sorry for what, exactly?"

Kris blinks, and then looks away.

"Sorry for what? Sorry for _fucking what_, Kristopher?"

"I just wanted.."

You wait, but Kris doesn't seem to be able figure that out either.

The look of confusion in his eyes is starting to get to you, though. You feel your jaw unclenching as you take a step forward. "What are you doing, Kris?" you ask softly now, and Kris's eyes widen much the way they had hours earlier.

"I messed it all up."

He kind of did, but how exactly are you supposed to tell him that? You take another step forward.

"I just, well, I thought this was what you wanted."

The calm that had begun to settle your nerves vanishes. "You have five seconds to explain what exactly you mean by that." You shouldn't be doing this right now. You even told Kris this.

"You, well... I wanted to do something for you. You've been such an amazing friend these past couple of months - I don't know what I would have done without you, and I thought, well... I thought."

"You thought you would show your appreciation by, what, exactly? That wasn't a fruit basket you had delivered to my dressing room before a show, Kris. Tell me, do you thank all your friends by being a fucking cock-tease? Because I've met your friends, and they seem to actually like you."

Kris is staring at you, his arms wrapped around his chest like he'd like nothing more than to curl up into a ball, and usually this is the point where you would envelop him in a hug. The temptation to do so even now is strong. It makes you want to throw something, just to have something to do with your arms.

You look away from Kris, and your eyes end up settling on your computer, which only reminds you of what Kris said earlier. "It bothered you to think about the idea that Tommy might be married, right?"

"Yes..."

"Why, exactly?"

"Because..."

"Because if he was married, he shouldn't be doing that kind of thing with another man?"

Kris is looking panicked now.

"Because if he was married, that would mean he'd taken vows to another person? Vows promising to be faithful, through better or worse? Because let me tell you something, Kris. That 'for worse' part applies when you're the one going through shit, too. You don't get a free pass to just exclude your wife from the hard parts of your life because you aren't sure if she can take it."

"I couldn't do that to Katy."

"But you could throw it all on me? When I was going through half of it myself? Glad to know how much you value my sanity."

"But that's different. You're different. You were there, offering, and, look, I never asked you, okay? I could have managed on my own."

"Oh, yeah, you were doing _so well_ there on your own. Tell me, did you enjoy sleeping in your car? Was that all part of the Hollywood experience for you?"

"I would have figured it out..."

"Look, Kris, I just wanted to be your friend."

Kris looks at you, and one raised eyebrow is all it takes to call your bluff.

"Ok, I wanted to be more than your friend, but I was happy with being your friend. All I was trying to do was be your friend, because as your friend I knew that being more than friends with me would be a pretty un-friend-like thing to do to you." You're rambling, and repeating yourself, and probably not making much sense, but you never exactly planned to say any of this out loud, and why, exactly, were you on the defensive here? "_You_ were the one who pushed this, Kris. Clearly, you knew how I felt. I gave you the benefit of the doubt - that maybe you really were _that fucking clueless_ \- but I guess for once I underestimated you. Congratulations. You actually are capable of being a cheating asshole, just like every other man out there."

"Cheating? That's rich, coming from a man who pretty much just had sex on stage with half his band."

You bark out a laugh. "I meant cheating on _Katy_, Kris. You know. Your _wife_." You narrow your eyes. "You still don't see what's going on here, do you? Tell me, Kris, where does Katy think you are right now?"

"I told her I thought you needed a _friend_ right now, with all the craziness of this evening."

"A friend. Are we still calling it that? Tell me, Kris, did you tell her you'd be spending tonight in your friend's bed? The bed that has two pillows reserved for you, just the way you like, with a dock for your iphone on the nightstand next to it? Did you tell Katy about the way you planned to _comfort_ me by nuzzling your face into my neck while drawing circles on my back? Did you tell her all that?"

You've backed Kris into a corner here - both emotionally and in actuality as he's now leaning back against your kitchen counter - and like a kitten backed into a corner, you've given him no other option than to lash out.

"Well, what _exactly_ did you expect me to do, Adam." Kris is meeting your eyes again, and it's like you've finally freed him from whatever chains of denial he'd still been clinging to. "I love Katy. I love you. You both know that, and all I know is that while they don't exactly feel like the same kind of love, I have _no fucking clue_ how I'm supposed to choose here."

The whole world turns white for a moment when you hear Kris say the words he's been whispering in your dreams for months now, but you refuse to let yourself get sidetracked here, because the truth is, you _did_ know that before now, and apparently Kris wasn't the only one who had been living in denial for some time.

"You want me to be the one to break here, don't you? You want me get caught up in the moment and kiss you, grabbing you and making you feel like you didn't have a choice in the matter. So you can excuse it and rationalize it in your mind. Is that what you want from me? Is that really what you fucking want?"

You take a step closer then, grabbing the counter on both sides of Kris, trapping him in place. You see him swallow, and you can feel his quick, shallow breaths on your face.

"Because I can give you that." You lean down, but pause just before your lips can brush his. "But only if you admit that you want it."

Kris is the one to bring his lips to yours, but it's you who actually kisses him, one of your hands sliding up his back and grabbing hold of his hair and pushing your mouths together like your lives depend on it. As Kris whimpers and fists his hands in your shirt you think that maybe they actually do, because forget singing, _this_, with each other, this feels like what you were both born to do.

Kris's back is still against the counter as you lean your weight onto him, arching his back down until he can't keep his balance any more and wraps a leg around your thigh for support. He's pulled your shirt out from your waistband, and his hands are splayed out on your back, bunching it up under the suit jacket you're still wearing for some insane reason.

You decide to find out just how flexible Kris is as you push him down even further, until he's laying back on the counter, clinging to you like he'll fall down completely if he doesn't. So you run your hands down his thighs, encouraging Kris to wrap them completely around your waist before grabbing his hands and pinning them down above his head with one hand.

It's an awkward position. Kris is half supported by the counter, half supported by his grip around you. If you make the wrong move Kris will fall to the floor and likely give himself a concussion in the process, but that makes it kind of perfect, in your mind. You pull back slightly, then, sliding a hand up the front of Kris's shirt as you break the kiss to begin dragging your lips as far down his neck as you can reach, and then moving back up again until you're biting down on his earlobe.

Kris's whimpering turned to gibberish as soon as you moved away from his mouth, but he lets out a mewl at that point, high pitched and extended like some sort of glory note, and arches his hips up into you. You grip down harder on his waist, holding him in place, but when you bite down again, you grind your hips down at the same time.

You cover Kris's babbling mouth with another kiss, and he hums out his pleasure. He's gone limp on you, completely pliable and willing to be bent in any way you choose. You hadn't even planned on going this far when you challenged Kris to a kiss, but you're under no delusions as to where this is headed now. You tell yourself it's too late to stop, but hover with your mouth just above Kris's for a moment anyhow.

Kris is straining to arch his chin up, just barely able to reach enough to make your lips brush. "Don't stop," he reads your mind again. "Please. Please, love you so much, don't stop..."

Your noses are touching as you search out Kris's eyes, seeing the truth behind his words; seeing the things Kris can't put into words. The kiss you share after that is different, almost cleansing as both of you explore each other's mouths, memorizing tastes and touches and ways to please each other. When you finally break apart for air, you can't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "I love you too. Always."

Then your lips crash together and this time it's all about teeth and tongues and hips rocking against each other, as both of you set a frantic pace like you're on borrowed time.

Maybe you are.

In the end, Kris screams out your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and you bury your head into his neck even as your grip on his hands finally slackens. As soon as it does, Kris wraps one arm around the back of your neck, gripping the edge of the counter with the other as his legs tighten around your waist, and you thrust into him once, twice, three more times before collapsing on top of him, breathless.

You stay like that for a few moments, before the details of the whole situation start to coalesce in your mind, one at a time.

You're still both fully dressed, and _that_ hasn't happened in awhile for you.

You have no idea what time it is, and remember your resolve to put all of this off in favor of sleep.

You hope that make up will be able to cover up the hickey and bite marks on your neck well enough to save you from the unforgiving tv studio lights.

All of this, of course, is trivial as Kris's voice comes into focus, slightly incoherent, but definitely repeating your name and declarations of love interspersed with other complimentary phrases.

It almost makes you want to ignore the fact that you've just remembered why you didn't do this months ago.

You untangle yourself, taking care to get Kris standing on his own two feet again, before taking a step back.

"I love you." You have to say it. "I will love you, no matter what." Kris's eyes are shining, and you have to hold out your hand to stop him from stepping forward. "I will be whatever it is you need me to be in your life, whether that's your best friend, your lover, or a cheerleader on the sideline." Kris opens his mouth, and you shake your head slightly, your eyes pleading with him to let you finish.

"I honestly don't know if I'm capable of staying out of your life entirely, but I will try, if that's what you need from me." Your voice catches. "I only have one thing I need from you." You take a deep breath. "I need you to be perfectly honest about what you want. I won't hide whatever our relationship is from anyone. Not from Katy, not from the press, not from your family back in Arkansas." Kris's eyes are wide, his jaw dropped open, and he looks too scared to breathe, let alone speak. "So I need you to figure out what it is you want, and until you do, I don't think we should see each other."

"Adam..." Kris chokes out, and when he blinks there are tears running down his cheeks.

"Shh..." You touch a finger to his lips before giving in and pressing one last soft kiss there. "Just in case it's the last time." You hear yourself whispering afterwards.

Then you turn around before you can change your mind. You end up locking yourself in your bedroom before just collapsing onto the bed, falling asleep almost on contact, although it feels like only seconds later when the alarm on your phone is going off.

You need to shower and then apply your make up with a spatula, but before you do this you unlock your door, holding your breath as you walk out into the hallway.

You stop when you reach the open door to your spare room.

It's spotless, all traces of Kris gone, as if they'd been nothing more than a dream.

And maybe that's all it was.

***

You make it through the day on auto-pilot, repeating the same things over and over to anyone who asks you questions. Getting pissed off at close-minded idiots actually makes a pretty good distraction from your own fucked up life, so eventually you find yourself actually engaging in conversation. When your publicist tells you that you won't be performing _For Your Entertainment_ anymore you don't even listen to her reasons, because you didn't really want to sing it anyhow.

"We'll do _Whataya Want From Me_," you cut her off to say.

She protests that, saying that, no, that wasn't actually the next single they had planned, but you hold firm. She looks like she might want to continue protesting, but your band, thank goodness, seems ready to do whatever you need from them.

You make it through the week by allowing yourself be honest while singing that song. You wonder if Kris sees any of the performances. You figure he must. You haven't turned on your computer in three days to try and get away from your own press.

It's almost two weeks before you get a day off. You still haven't heard from Kris. You ignore the mess strewn around your apartment in favor of spending the day in bed, getting up only to drag a few bottles out of your liquor cabinet, only to let them lay next to the bed, forgotten.

It's clear that Kris has made his choice. You can almost understand it, really. The truth is, anything less than everything just wouldn't be enough, and everything is really more than you'd ever be able to ask from Kris, who has so many good things in his life. You're just you, and eventually, Kris will learn to live without you, because he really is that strong of a person.

You think that's the thing you'll be able to take away from all of this. Kris has always pushed you to be a bigger and better person than you were without him, and now it's time to prove that you really can be the man that he seems to see in you. A melody starts playing through your mind, and you find yourself wondering if any of the three chords Kris taught you on guitar would fit.

Maybe later you'll manage to get up and try them out.

For now, you just sing to yourself, still wrapped up in your blanket, head laying on the pillow, lost in your own little world. It's what you used to do when you were younger, still living at home.

You stop, sensing more than hearing the presence at your door. You turn around slowly, a smile coming to your lips even as you doubt that this is actually real.

"Hi," Kris says from where he's leaning against your door frame, holding up a key. "I let myself in. Hope you don't mind."

THE END

[(For now)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fy84lr7Qmo)

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel is currently being written to this fic.
> 
> If you would prefer, feedback can be left on [livejournal.](http://risti.livejournal.com/388095.html)


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